| I’ll fight like cops and robbers on violent streets
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| Or like Mods and Rockers on Brighton beach
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| To get to that next level that I’m tryna reach
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| I’ll climb to the peak
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| I’d rather die on my feet than live on my knees
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| To me that’s admitting defeat
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| So I march on this black grass military beat
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| The mission is deep
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| They say the flavour of victory is sweet
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| But the battle tastes bitter to me
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| Still I’m spitting 'till I triple the feat
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| 'Cause young bloods say the blood money is better than a kick in the teeth
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| Gritting their teeth
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| Asking permission to leave
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| They go AWOL, MIA, living in peace
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| It’s the team
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| Alphabet category A
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| When the plan comes together never get in my way
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| Bragging about lead that they spray
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| Led them astray
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| But the league’s in training, I’m setting the pace
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| J-star run hard 'till I’m red in the face
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| Eyes on the finish line last leg of the race
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| With the weight of my rucksack heavy on my back
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| Heavy on the track and I’m ready to attack
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| Transmitting life from the trenches
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| Tramps sitting on the front-line benches
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| From my ends to your ends
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| These are the last lines of defence
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| Transmitting life from the trenches
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| Tramps sitting on the front-line benches
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| From my ends to your ends
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| These are the last lines of defence
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| I move on the track like a soldier of fortune
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| You wanna prove you got balls I applaud you
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| But I warn you
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| Blood I’ll 'Desert Storm' you
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| When you die let the parasites swarm you
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| More than a few war wounds I assure you
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| Poltergeist psychologically haunt you
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| Life’s not a fair ground more like a borstal (cutthroat)
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| Draw broadswords in a boardroom
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| Hardcore like marine corps corporals
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| Frogman; |
| dagger, wet suit and a snorkel
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| And your corpse will look awful
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| Body washed up on a beach out in Cornwall
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| Twisted up like a corkscrew
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| Your family will need a preacher to talk to
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| But that’s life knee-deep in a street trench
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| Tryna make these ends meet by the week’s end
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| Transmitting life from the trenches
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| Tramps sitting on the front-line benches
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| From my ends to your ends
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| These are the last lines of defence
|
| Transmitting life from the trenches
|
| Tramps sitting on the front-line benches
|
| From my ends to your ends
|
| These are the last lines of defence
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| Cut the bravado
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| Don’t interrupt the commando
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| Rap bandolero
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| Dan desperado
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| Straight out the comic strip
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| But I come equipped
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| You’ll get hit with a stick like the drummer’s kit
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| For spitting that dumb and dumber shit
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| I’m done with it
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| Run up in your crib bun it down for the fun of it
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| You’re not ready
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| I drop heavy like a ton of bricks
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| Gun down your entire camp with a couple hits
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| Transmitting life from the trenches
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| Tramps sitting on the front-line benches
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| From my ends to your ends
|
| These are the last lines of defence
|
| Transmitting life from the trenches
|
| Tramps sitting on the front-line benches
|
| From my ends to your ends
|
| These are the last lines of defence |